


resistance puppy

by SecretReyloTrash (BadOldWest)



Series: cat's cradle [2]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Face-Sitting, Femdom, Gingerrose - Freeform, Hux Defecting, Hux is the Spy, Kind of fluffy, Light Dom/sub, Millicent the cat - Freeform, No Hard Kinks but Rose calls Hux her puppy a few times, Romance, Rose Tico Deserves The World, Rose is the Contact, Sequel to Cat's Cradle, TROS Canon-Divergent, imagine if sex with space mr collins was fun, they're both kind of switches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22294171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadOldWest/pseuds/SecretReyloTrash
Summary: “On m-my terms,” she tried to think of her terms. “My terms, you’re going to be...my lapdog.”He froze, half-buried inside her, looking stunned.“What?”“You have to grow a beard,” she snapped, “A Resistance Beard. If you expect to be welcome in my bed."Hux is the Spy. Rose is his Resistance contact. They've been hiding their affair until he escapes the First Order.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Series: cat's cradle [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597567
Comments: 18
Kudos: 162





	resistance puppy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alsterwasser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alsterwasser/gifts).



> Second part of cat's cradle series: you can read about Hux's cat kink and how they got together in that incredibly coercive screwball comedy in part 1!

_“On m-my terms,” she tried to think of her terms. “My terms, you’re going to be...my lapdog.”_

_He froze, cock half-buried inside her, looking stunned._

_“What?”_

_“You have to grow a beard,” she snapped, “A Resistance Beard. If you expect to be welcome in my bed. You can’t sneer at me, you lick my...my, my pussy whenever I ask, and there will be no demerits. Ever.”_

_[...]_

_“Have we got a deal?”_

_Her eyes clenched shut, because he was stroking her clit again and that was not a fair or gentlemanly time to ask questions._

_Right. This was Hux._

_“I always wanted a puppy,” she said coldly._

  
  


* * *

The cuffs secure unresisting wrists. A mere formality, after his surrender. And he’s never been a stranger to formalities. 

They stare at him stupidly. Like he’s going to start talking. He is hardly going to be granted representation, but that’s not what he’s looking for. He just has to get himself to her feet. She’s softer than she acts: once he’s there, begging; his kitten will protect him.

The flight is a mostly silent one.

Dameron attempts quipped small talk onboard that is not even worth being remembered. The pathetic posturing of a hero. 

The traitor casts him heavy looks across the boot, where he watches the prisoner with a blaster, almost as if he pities Hux.

Do they think they can crack him? He’s a tougher nut than that. And he awaits the sensation of a slide into his _proper_ disciplinary vice.

“Dejarik?” the traitor finally says.

For the first time Hux sets his cuffed, gloved hands down on the filthy table.

“What?”

All he gets in response is a shrug. 

“Passes the time.”

Well, he’s not sure how much he has left of it. Even if the Resistance is soft, they are also savage, and... _kind._

Her face snaps in a hot lash across his brain. He tries to blink her away.

No.

Another image, her face after he received a particularly nasty dressing-down from Pryde mocking him for how Armitage’s own father did not want to deal with him, so he was sent to give him a firmer hand, where she listened and stroked his hair.

_Loyal._

No.

His kitten’s thighs spreading for him with a little whimper. Spread across his sheets. Her voice high and begging for him. 

_Lucious_

He shakes images like this, images of her, from his mind. She might not even be there when he arrives. There is a war going on. Maybe she’d found her own insipid, bearded worshipper. 

“I’ll play,” Hux says after a moment, knowing he must look odd for all the blinking and shaking of his head he had just done to clear those thoughts. 

The Traitor keys up the game. Or is Hux the Traitor? Maybe he shouldn’t call him that anymore.

He puffs slightly with pride, attempting to regain his composure for the game with his bound hands:

He has done much more damage to his enemy in his time as a traitor. 

* * *

After a few games lost to a Wookie, his transporters herd him down to the terrain below. A casual crowd forms upon landing, from what it looks like they recognize these two soldiers, and the ship itself. They mill about casually, as if they were on a military base to make _friends,_ and want to greet their returning comrades as if this was a charm school.

But more striking is the reaction of the crowd when his uniform can be plainly seen in the sunlight. Then, the frenzy of the onlookers is thrust into a quiver of chaos. 

He hasn’t even gotten his bearings to try and determine the greater surroundings of whatever planet they landed on (his little devil never gave him specific locations) when a cry breaks through the crowd. 

He can see her running towards them.

Hux tenses. He’s a reasonable man: he doubted she’d want anyone to know about their courtship, and with such an audience, she had a great deal to lose. Not as much as he did by coming here, but still, he could be fair that it was his very desperate choice to make.

He can finally relax when she launches herself into his arms. Or, at least, tries to. His hands are still bound, and he makes a solid effort to catch that goes nowhere, so instead she clings to him like a kitten upon her landing and he just stands there.

But she makes her affection for him known, openly, in front of so many who would despise him.

He blinks down at her, not wanting to show vulnerability. But he does weaken enough to slide the bridge of nose across the top of her head through her hair.

Her curls are gone. Smoothed down, tied in a tight knot. For once adhering to proper First Order regulation. 

The shock of the missing quirk he could never knock aside, realizing that he was too weak to alter her, is only second to his shock to be sad those curls were gone. 

“He’s wounded,” the Traitor says, sounding slightly in shock he even has to say it. Clearly no one expected this reception.

Rose falls back on her feet in an instant, examining the hunch of his body closely.

“What’s going on?” someone in the crowd says, as though they truly don’t know what bizarre display in unfolding. Hux can’t exactly blame them for saying it.

Rose twists on her heel and holds her body in front of Armitage like a shield. Herself between him and the entire Resistance. 

So his sacrifice _was_ worth it: now it was clear she’d make the same on for him.

“Stand down,” Rose Tico says firmly, with a power that sends a rush of blood through his body. She's really grown into her own so magnificently: “He’s my informant.”

* * *

“First things first,” she’s unbuttoning that shapeless, colorless shirt, and he’s glad to see it gone, cast onto the floor. She looked lovely in First Order teal. And her uniform there was fitted to perfection, unlike the lax dress code of the Resistance. She is as lovely as ever: though it is some relief she has not been displayed here without him as the utter picture he had met on that First Order ship, when she was undercover. 

He’s too possessive for that. Some nights he made her moan for hours that there was no one else, there would never be anyone else, to placate his growing fear he would lose her to some Resistance dog. Whichever one had her so bruised when she first took to his bed. 

He’d gotten his time during their affair to lightly bully that information out of her. He always seethed when he thought of rebel scum making her feel less than. Regardless of his politics, the Resistance simply didn’t deserve her.

But he doesn’t have time to fixate on that, she’s already out there issuing orders as if she were the General.

Though his rank does not matter much here: in the Galaxy or in her bed.

“Take off your clothes.”

“First thing, truly,” he sneers back, _“Where is she?”_

Rose glares at him, her arms bare and her torso swathed in a tank top clinging to her skin in this tropical heat. He _does_ want to look at her: but instead he searches the room.

“I used my one favor from the General to pardon you for your crimes against the Resistance,” she glowers at him, stalking across her quarters. Her boots clang on iron grate, his heart pounding with each step. “I decide how this goes.”

She whips a cloth draped over a box across from the bed: on cue Millicent meows from her cage when she is revealed to be underneath. The sleepy orange cat flicks her tail, but it’s unclear if she’s awake and unimpressed by his return or if she just stayed asleep out of indifference. 

His prized possession. Traded as insurance that he would never betray Rose. 

Back when they even needed to prove that. Now it feels as though he gave her his pet so he could eventually join them both here.

Both of his kittens in one place.

Rose flops down onto the bed and removes her trousers.

“I gave you an order.”

He takes a deep breath: relieved to see Millicent safe and comfortable. This really did work. His gamble on a resistance spy sticking out like a sore thumb. His desire.

His...love of her. Caring about a girl who had since become a woman: caring about that transformation in a time of _war_ when so many died and those transitions were not noticed. It had gotten him here, in her quarters, belonging to her, with his two favorite things in the world.

He eagerly springs to action and obeys. 

“Crawl to me,” she orders in a low voice. 

She’d grown into her authority since the first time they’d made love. He wasn’t ashamed to call it that, even if the emotional status of their relationship took a while to call it that. Once it did; every element of their time together was viewed as purposeful in building their connection in one specific way that could not be replicated. Starting from her taking a bite out of his finger. 

At first he reveled in his domination of her, but she seemed to like the breaks in control when he was clumsier, softer. Then when she took control…

And that’s how he ended up here. Desperate for her.

Crawling on his hands and knees to her like a good puppy.

She hasn’t given him instructions on touching her, to touch or not to touch, and that may be because if she told him not to he might start howling. It has been too long, too much adrenaline, and Rose is safely secured with her skin under his mouth in seconds. 

“I had to request a few favors. Millicent aside, the Resistance doesn’t allow pets, last I’m told, so you’ll have to be useful to the cause outside of pleasing me."

She sighs when he licks and nips above her bare knee with a breathy whine. Begging.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” her voice drifts up from the bed as he mouths frantically at her thighs, “you belong to me. I will keep you safe. You will be helpful and _pleasant_ to everyone.”

He nods, tongue circling a part of her skin that is growing red from his mouth. Maybe purple, soon. _Maybe_ she’d let him _mark_ her…

Rose yanks on his hair so he is forced to meet her eyes. Her legs adjust to shut him out, but she has to be confident for he rests so close it is a bit of a tangle. He loves when she is firm with him, even if it means to keep him from his prize. Her strictness gives him peace: knowing his restrictions, her commands. 

All he had to go on for so long were mere commands. Sent over comm links, in hidden messages, waiting for this day to come. 

He can feel the awkward way they are locked together from her closing her legs in denial, but her small body never shows it. She is perfect at control.

She holds his hair in her fists like reigns.

“You will grow a beard,” she reminds him, yanking back to angle his jaw under her eyes, “A proper Resistance beard. I want to feel it on my thighs waking me up every morning.”

“Is that part of the conditions?”

She rubs her thumb over his cheek.

“I told you to, so you’ll do it regardless.”

He groans at her touch, eyes closing tightly. There hadn’t been time for _how are you? I miss you_ in their reunion, but he knew she was making up for it as fast as she could. 

“I’ll be your eager alarm,” he settles his hands on her hips, “and once you wake, I’ll slide my cock in you, my mistress, m-my lo-”

He chokes a little bit, her hands come up to cradle his trembling face.

_“My love.”_

Rose’s entire hardened expression softens in an instant. The thin line of her mouth, the way she wears her beautiful full cheeks as armor, the glare in her eyes. There had been something daring her to prove her efforts were worth it: and clearly they were if he had now done this.

Had their love been forged on her mission under his command, despite the desperation to keep herself from being discovered resolving both her cover and both their loneliness? He doubted it: he'd acted beastly. When had the hate and the _using_ of each other to feel less of themselves blossomed into this? He knew he was being a bastard when he propositioned her. He was cold back then, and didn’t care, and she accepted. His attraction was validated by pressured acceptance. 

Now, looking at how completely she owns him, he doesn’t think it possible that she would take him as he was. He can’t even feel mortified that he had been so callous. It had presented the opportunity for her to show her mettle: and she was a magnificent creature. The love of his life. 

“I didn’t think you’d really come,” she admits, ruffling his hair out of its slick, harshly-parted First Order Standard style. The strands were limp with the sweat of space travel, smothered by jungle heat, and splashed out against her touch like a breaking wave. 

He is distracted from her bare cunt. Something he never thought possible when he hovered his chin over it, ready to feast, but now he falls back and stares up at her reverently. 

“Of course,” he kisses the heel of her palm, crawling his lips to caress her fingers in devotion. “Of course I would, kitten.”

“Not always,” she laughs, “you would have let me fend for myself once…”

“I am changed,” he cradled her small hand in his. His thumb stroking the lines of her palm. “Do you still want me, now that I have no security to offer you? You deserved the luxuries I could afford, and now…”

Rose swivels her weight to rest onto one hip, gazing down at him from the bed. 

“You still came, even if you doubted I’d keep you just because your rank is...significantly...reduced?”

_“A fact of which I am aware,”_ he answers stiffly, a sore subject, but she laughs and touches his face so gently.

“I think it’s a way of cleansing you. A fresh start. And I never hated my position here. I’ve...Hux, my rank has grown. I can take care of us.”

The sincerity of the moment is so warm and radiant he feels like he is staring into the sun of a foreign planet, closer and hotter than that of his homeworld. But Rose doesn’t let it linger. She grabs him by the throat and yanks him up to lie naked on her bed. 

“And I always wanted a pet,” she rasps at him, teasing up her tank top until it slips over his head. He lies obediently on the mattress. Hands clenched at his sides. He isn’t allowed to touch. 

Rose straddles his belly. The muscles under his pale skin twitch and jump, aching to feel the brush of her sex against him. But he remains still. He’d like so much to be good for her. 

Rose sighs in an already deeply satisfied way. Her body relaxes as she crawls up him. When her knee lands at the side of his head, he does wriggle a little. Excitement and anticipation force a little whimper out of his throat.

“Hungry?” she purrs, her cunt hovering, open, over his chest. All she has to do is lift that other leg over his shoulder. 

He nods. 

She reaches down and brushes her fingers over his mouth.

“I wanted to do this ever since I first saw the smug curl of your lip.”

And he’s overwhelmed by her wants, winded in trying to imagine her in her teal uniform _wanting_ him, and when he is his most distracted she settles herself over his face and offers herself up for him to lick.

He does, without thought, without being able to form thought, immediately. He laps desperately at her sex, needing her, needing to be used by her. She makes such good use of him. He doesn’t know how to be without her intentions guiding him. She had made him…

Decent.

Not good, but decent. 

And deeply longing to just be kind to her. 

Rose told him that it was enough for her, in answer to a small sprig of flowers offered to her in his gloved hand during a covert meeting, that he just wanted to focus his energy on being kind to her. 

He still ate her pussy like he was trying to destroy her and never let the fragments of her go: but she didn’t object to that. 

Her thighs tremble against his ears, hips bucking and riding his mouth frantically, her enjoyment of his rough treatment obvious. He knows how she likes it. A little sloppy, but consistent.

“Good boy,” she teases breathily, bearing down with a slightly mocking tone, “who’s a good boy?”

His eyes snap shut and he whines into her pussy. 

It should be rising in his chest: _say me please say I am--_

“Ah,” Rose’s head falls back with a sigh. “You are so good, Hux.”

Her hands lock in his hair and she bears down onto his mouth, riding roughly in a few back-and-forth jerks of her hips. It’s overwhelming, but she is so close that he can tell he just has to be good for her a moment longer.

Her cry is long and broken and he feels smothered by her body as she quakes. It’s not a bad feeling: he always wants more of it. His heart racing as he comes in second to her bliss, a bliss he gave her, makes him feel like he is sacrificing for something more than himself. It’s like art. 

He always liked the little art study he was allowed in his education. The First Order prioritized in probably last on their list, but higher-ranked schools wanted to develop a taste for military fashions. He spent what little of it he remembered planning the designs for his own military statue at the end of the war, or something in tribute to Millicent in his private home. Those plans went as far as to be mocked-up in the occasional doodle.

He’d like to draw Rose, now that she’s crawling down his body almost sheepishly. She tucks herself alongside the length of his body, her head resting on his chest. It feels nice to cuddle, even when he’s hard as stone and needing her touch so badly. 

“I want to take you,” he blurts out with a pout.

Rose sighs, barely noticing his complaint.

“We’re cuddling.”

“I can cuddle with Millicent. I want to fuck that pretty pussy I just ruined.”

_“I missed you,”_ she digs her fingernails into his chest, “and I’m going to enjoy you like this for a while.”

He lets out a deep sigh. But his arms close around her, holding her protectively to his body. Just as he relaxes, he reclaims control.

“Now,” he rolls them over, lurking over her small body with predatory menace, “which one of these rebel scum broke your heart?”

He is serious, to a degree, that he would fight for her honor. His only fight against the Resistance now, but it was a very personal one. She may call him a dog to tame him but he was as loyal and potentially vicious as one. 

Rose shakes her head.

“No.”

He bows to kiss her collarbone.

“Tell me.”

“Hux, no.”

She surprises him and laughs.

“You already made that better,” she promises in a soft voice, “I’m fine.”

“If I am to be your loyal dog…”

She takes his chin his her firm hand. Her promise is dark: but as true and dependable as the rest of her.

“Not a dog. _A puppy._ And puppies still have to be trained.”


End file.
